


we can watch the white doves go

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blanket Permission, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean always said:salt my bones, and burn 'em.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 5





	we can watch the white doves go

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Led Zepplin's 'Houses of the Holy', because reasons.

A heart attack. A lifetime of hunting monsters and his brother dies of a heart attack. He'd been right all those times he'd bitched, told Dean, _you're gonna die eating that shit,_ subtly pushed him a plate of salad, which was promptly ignored in favor of chips and deep-fried Mars bars. 

Sam's in class when he gets the news. _Dean's dead_ from an unknown number with an Arkansas area code, and Sam's whole world falls apart. 

He finishes class. He goes home. Jess touches his arm, softly, drags her fingers down to touch his wrist. Asks what's wrong. 

Everything Sam could possibly say gets stuck in his throat. 

How does he explain it? Dean, ten years old and Sam's whole world. Dean, sixteen and spending his last pennies to buy Sam ice cream. Dean, the most annoying person on the fucking planet, who he hated almost as much as he loved. Dean, twenty-two and shoving a fistful of twenties at Sam, looking away so Sam didn't see the tears in his eyes. Dean, who he'd never called, no matter how many times his fingers had hovered over the dial. 

Dean, who was dead. 

Dead. 

He tells Jess he'll be back in a week, and he hits the road. 

*

Dean died in Nebraska. Sam drives like a maniac, red lights smudging in his peripheral vision. 

He hits Geneva in a torrent, rain ripping through the cornfields and sleeting on the windows, no matter how many times he hits the windshield wipers. It's like every other small town, the ones he can map out with his eyes closed. He stops in a diner, red styrofoam couches and cracked Formica counters, lays down two dollars and tells the waitress he takes his coffee black. 

The rains slams on the window, pattering on the grease stains. He pulls out his napkin. Tries to think of something, other than the fact that he'll never see his brother again. The napkin ends up balled up and crushed on the floor. 

He'd always wanted to leave hunting, but he never considered that doing that would mean leaving Dean. Permanently. Some part of him always thought that this was just temporary, that in the end they'd somehow find each other again. Shit like that seemed inevitable. 

What a joke. 

The coffee tastes like piss and he drinks it down in three gulps, burning his throat. It's still cold. It's still raining. 

He leaves. 

*

They didn't have a funeral. Who would've come? 

John paid for the plaque, didn't wait to ask Sam for his opinion. Of course. 

But the plaque is what Dean would've wanted, no frills. Just _Dean Winchester_ , date of birth and last week. 

There's a singular anemone growing next to the plaque. Sam thinks, _fitting,_ wants to rip it out. 

He heads back to his car and reaches for the bottle. Like father, like son, he supposes. 

Then he grabs a shovel, and starts digging. 

*

Dean's corpse goes up in a fiery explosion, salt and gas popping. Sam can almost hear him: _always said I'd go out with a bang, Sammy._

He stamps out the fire, wipes the tears from his face. Drains his flask, scoops up a handful of ash, and puts it in a ziplock bag. 

He stares. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

He grabs the shovel again. The ziplock bag goes in the glovebox. 

*

He comes back, and Jess is burning. 

*

If Dean were alive, he thinks that things would be different. There'd be the Impala instead of his shitty stolen rental car, actual meals instead of pitch-black coffee that tastes like car oil. There'd be jokes and distractions and prank wars and Dean's fucking insistence on playing _Warning: High Volume_ on repeat whenever they were in Nevada. 

But Dean's dead, so there's no one to keep Sam in check. He doesn't chase after John, doesn't try to pick up the broken pieces of his past. But he keeps his eyes on the road, kills monsters, and runs in the demon's footsteps, doesn't let himself wonder about the could- and would-have-beens. 

He thinks that he might be turning into his dad. It almost scares him.

*

He catches up to the demon after six months on the road. The Colt's clutched in his hand, two bullets remaining. 

The demon smiles, says, "You won't kill me, Sam. Destiny says-" 

Sam shoots him. "Wrong," he tells the corpse. 

Then he turns the gun on himself. 

He thinks he sees a light at the end of the tunnel, thinks he sees Jess, thinks he sees Dean.

But it's probably just a trick of the light.

**Author's Note:**

> In Victorian flower language, anamones mean 'forsaken'.


End file.
